


Riots.

by morphoportis



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Bane (TDKR), Bane (The Dark Knight Rises) - Freeform, F/M, TDKR, The Dark Knigh Rises, Tom Hardy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphoportis/pseuds/morphoportis
Summary: After the events in Gotham City, reader and their friends are still on the hunt for treasures to steal, as long as the police is occupied with more pressing issues. While the group is looting a building, reader comes across an unexpected face.





	1. Holy fucking shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, you guys. This is the first fanfiction I’m posting on the interwebz. And I am a bit scared but also excited to share it with you. Language might seem a bit weird at times, since English is not my first language. So please bear with me. lol

Chaos reigned in Gotham. It had been for a while and probably would only for a couple of days more. Word on the streets was that Batman had sacrificed himself for good, old and righteous Gotham City, after he (with the help of Catwoman) brought down the masked man who had started it all. At least that's what rumours said and Bane hadn't been seen since the explosion.  
The police was working hard on getting the upper hand again. They would do it corner by corner, street by street, block by block, district by district. And soon the riots would cease all together. So it was only a matter of time until the GCPD would catch up on you and your “friends”.  
“Friends” because... well, back when all the havoc had started and jumped from building to building like a squirrel from tree to tree, you had ran into each other in the hallway of a two-store family house in the richest district of Gotham. All of you hands full with the most precious and expensive belongings the rich fuckers owned. It was comical. There you all stood on the stairs, you on your way down, them on their way up, all in ragged clothes, dirty faces from the fires all over town, and glittering jewels around your necks, thick diamonds adorning your hands. Laughter had filled the house and the cause that had driven you out of your shitty apartment in a project, brought you together with the group. Taking from the rich was their idea of having a good time as well.

By now the treasure hunts were quite professional. You had the equipment to open up heavy doors and safes, smoke habitants out of their housing. Each of you drove a motorcycle with a small trailer or a car to transport tools and findings. All in black and balaclavas on top of your heads to always pull them over your faces if necessary, you wore latex gloves as well. The whole group knew: the riots could not last forever and it was gravely important to all of you, that the police would not be able to trace anything back to any member of your circle. So even when shit was hitting the fan in this city, you all kept cool, calm and collected and most of all: realistic.

The group came to a halt in front of Gotham City Hall. Setting one booted foot on the black pavement, you swung the other back over your bike as the motor had died. “Honestly guys, what is it you want to get from here?”, your voice sounded muffled from the helmet. You sighed as you took in the grandness and pompousness of the building.  
To you City Hall, as well as the Stock Exchange, always had seemed like one of the most ugly and hateful buildings in Gotham. The whole area always had for that matter. You had grown up a couple of blocks away from here, in an orphanage sponsored by Wayne Enterprises. Each day you had went to school or you just had played outside, you have had the great pleasure of watching different kinds of rich people, flaunting and parading their wealth in your face.  
Observing them had taught you many things. First and foremost: hating them.

The others made their way up the stairs to the left and right as you entered the main door. Since the room straight ahead was a mess, you all assumed the ground level had already been looted for valuables. Not sure where to go because you really didn't give a single fuck to get anything from this place and for you personally it was a far stretch to think, they would find anything interesting here, you finally took of your helmet and shook your head to make your long hair fall down in a comfortable mess. Helmet tucked under your arm, kicking some pebble along the way with you, you entered the battered room.  
The closer you looked at it, the more it seemed like a fight had been take place here. Maybe whoever had looted the place before got into a fight over the valuables, maybe some citizens just felt like destroying something. Your steel-capped docs were the only sound echoing around you... or so you thought. As you paused your steps to take in the chaos surrounding you, another sound reached your ears. At first you thought it to be the rest of the group rummaging the room above you but the longer you listened, the less it sounded familiar to you. And it sounded a lot closer than that. And strangely rhythmical. A bit like... breathing?  
Quickly your eyes scanned the room for a body but there wasn't any. Knowing sight was the least of senses someone should trust, you closed your eyes for a moment to locate the strange noise. The echo made it somewhat tricky but you managed to find the rough direction of it. Now with your eyes open, you started walking again. Slowly. It seemed like the sound was coming from a small heap in the corner to your left. The closer you got, the more it did not look like rubble anymore. You could make out black fabric, stained with light dust from the debris covering it. And... it seemed to move!  
Your instincts worked a lot faster than your rational thinking and you leaped forward, rushing to help whoever was in need and down on your knees. Carefully but fast, you decluttered... it appeared to be a pretty large and massive man and as you grabbed his shoulder to turn him on his back, you struggled a bit. When the man's body rolled in your direction and his head followed, you backed away and inch or two. This was not remotely what you had expected... or rather whom. The man laying in front of you, was the masked man who had terrorised Gotham: Bane.  
“Holy fucking shit.”, was all that escaped your lips in a breathless whisper. He seemed unconscious and a quick visual check told you, he had suffered a heavy hit to the stomach. Probably heavy armoury. He was bleeding but the vest he was wearing had very likely softened a lot of the hit's force. Your hand reached for his pulse on his neck and you leaned in to get your ear closer to the mask. Bane was still alive... you painfully learned as you felt a strong hand grab the back of your neck and yank you away from his face.


	2. Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding Bane wounded and dying in Gotham City Hall, you have to make a decision. Your friends or him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/NN = Your nickname
> 
> Warnings: Lots of swearing

Bane's grip was awfully tight around your neck and you were a 100% sure, even in his weakened state, this man was able to break it with one simple and swift move. For a split second you thought about ways to free yourself from his hand but another thing you were pretty sure about was, that he'd catch you by your hair.  
“Seriously? I'm just trying to help you, man”, your mouth complained before your brain could actually rate the words coming out of it as a teensy bit inept. Nice. Way to get yourself out of this mess. To be honest, you had never been someone to shut their pie hole when situations required it.  
Bane's eyes practically shot daggers at you. Stare still. Somewhat furious... but there was something else in them. Something you couldn't quite place. Fear? Pain? Confusion?

Bane was confused. What initially had triggered his reflex to defend himself, that no one could be trusted and everyone was just out to get him... there was nothing of it in your eyes. Assessing your motives, something told him, you meant every word you said. It was odd and frankly he was surprised by himself when he felt the muscles in his arm and hand shift.

You felt his fingers loosen and were able to pull away. Not trying to panic, you breathed in and out. In and out. While rubbing your neck. You could still feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin. If there was one feeling you hated, it was that of being physically restrained or downright inferior. Honestly, you had assumed this was the last time of you being cheeky in a situation like this. He could have hurt you so easily.  
Now it was your turn to look somewhat confused and you were about to speak when you heard footsteps moving quickly down the stairs in the large hallway of the entrance. One pair halted in the door frame of the room you recently occupied and you turned your head around to see who it was. “You were right, Y/NN. An absolute waste of time and energy. Maybe a couple of pieces of furniture but too big and heavy to actually keep this a short time visit”, Cable, who's given name was actually Greg, admitted.  
_Told you so_ , crossed your mind for a moment but being sassy was not the major priority right now. “Look what I found though...”, you uttered and nodded into the direction of the almost lifeless body laying in front of you. Cable not being able to see what you meant, came closer.  
“Shit! Is that... Bane?”  
“Yes, and-”  
“Fuck!”, he crossed the rest of the room and came to a halt next to you. “Wow, someone beat him up well”, a bemused snicker escaped Cable's lips.  
“I need your help.” Another confused look.  
“With what?”  
“We need to get him out of here”, matter of factly.  
“Excuse me?!... No, this... nah”, Cable pulled a face and lifted his hands in a defensive motion.  
“He needs help or he'll die, Greg!”  
“Sorry doll, but this is too risky for me... getting caught with him... and to be honest... he already looks fucking dead.” In any other situation you would have not let his degrading nickname for you slip past.  
“That's because he's dying, you stupid fuck!”, you felt your face getting heated.  
Cable put on his helmet and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it's better that way”, it seemed like he thought that now was his turn to sound matter of factly, as he put on his motorcycle gloves.  
There it was. Your breaking point. The anger rushing from your head through your whole body, had you up in no time, when you both heard a voice yelling his name. It sounded urgent. Maybe someone from the group had turned on police radio and they weren't far.  
In just one or two seconds more, a whole lot of things happened. Inside your head at least. In milliseconds your mind raced through your memories and replayed moment after moment you had spent together with the group. Things had been nice at the beginning. Nice and simple. You all had had the same goal. Or so you had thought it seemed. Sure, none of you was a saint in all of this but was this group still what you initially had joined it for? Were you all still on the same page? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? The last couple of heists had ended pretty violently and you had done nothing to prevent or stop it. You were as guilty as them.  
Was that still you? What had happened to the girl calling people out on their bullshit? Even physically fighting for people who needed help? Fighting school yard bullies, mobsters, men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves?  
So much more rushed through your mind. Situation after situation that had you made feel more and more alienated and cut off from the others. Had you overthink and doubt everything you were doing. Into all of this you felt fury pouring in. Was that guy in front of you still that chill dude you'd hooked up with a few times? Right now he was a bit too chill for your taste. If you thought about it, you had never gotten to know any of them, really. Who was to say Greg hadn't been a complete ass before, already? But refusing to help someone who was dying? This was it.  
“Piss off.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me right, Greg. Piss off”, you almost spit in his face. Another cold shrug of his shoulders and he was gone out the door. A couple of moments later, the sound of engines could be heard and every other second if faded away gradually.

Your eyes fell back to Bane's face. Okay... you knew where to get him, you only needed a plan to get him out of here. Preferably as fast as possible. The sirens of police cars could be heard far in the distance of the city. Turning your gaze from the man's eyes, yours scanned the room yet again. This time for something that could be of use but nothing seemed obviously helpful in your endeavours or trigger an idea.  
Quickly your feet carried you out of the room, the building and to your motorcycle. Without thinking twice, your hands opened the hatch at the back of the small trailer that was connected to your bike and emptied all the stolen valuables on to the street. So, now you knew how to transport the masked man. Just not how to get him down here. His injury was probably way too severe for him to waste too much strength on carrying his own weight.  
“Think, think, think!”, you said out loud and gave your forehead a few good pats. Again your feet started moving. It had always been like that since you had been a child. Either your feet knew where to lead you or walking helped you to get your brain into motion as well, ideas flooding in. This time they made you pace up and down next to your bike. And you were about to give up on their stimulating support this time and go back inside, when your feet made you trip over something and fall hands first down on the pavement. Looking back at what had caught your two fellas attention, your eyes spotted a rolled up rug. You knew you could always count on them.  
This morning you had taken the rug from the house of a guy who had the walls of his home plastered with photos of himself. The only face you found was a movie poster from _The Big Lebowski_ right above a cosy sofa with a rug in front of it that tied the room together. You had to take this thing with you just to simply fuck with this wannabe playboy. It had been more of a meta joke to take it but you never thought the sight of a rug could've made you feel inspiration, excitement and relieve. You quickly got up on your feet again.

Bane hadn't expected to see your face ever again when you had left, so he did what this cruel world had made him exceptionally good at. Surviving. He knew his chances were small, certainly non-existent, but if he'd be able to block out the pain, as his mask partly did for him and as he was trained to do in greater detail and intensity all his life, he might could get a few blocks away from here. There he would die in the darkness, hidden from the world, he was sure. Anything was better than being in the hands of the police. Getting thrown in a cage again.  
As he was about to slip into some kind of trance, to disassociate himself from the pain in his body, he felt something from the outside pulling him back. A physical impulse. And a voice. Muffled. The voice started sounding clearer as he shifted his mind back to reality again, clinging to the pain to guide him back. “Bane!”, he opened his eyes to the sound of his name. And there it was again. The face of that girl.

And there he was again. You exhaled deeply with more than some relieve. The moment you had seen him with his eye lids closed, you had feared the worst. Feared? What kind of thought was that? And what was he to you anyway? A terrorist? Scratch that. Someone who was about to die infront of your eyes and you couldn't let that happen, could you? No matter who he was.  
“I'm really sorry about this...”, you apologised in advance for the increase of pain he was going to feel from what you had in mind. You rolled out the rug next to him, fuzzy side down. This way it would function as a poor excuse of a stretcher you could drag across the sleek marble floor and thus be able to get someone his weight out of here. “You've got to help me a bit to get you onto this thing”, you explained. For a moment you could see the hesitation in his tense body, the suspicion in his eyes. The sirens of the police cars cut through the silence between the two of you. Definitely closer than before. You held out your hand to grab. “Please...”, a whisper. Almost pleading.

Heavy breathing grew heavier as Bane's hand grabbed yours. Luckily you weren't opposed to work heavy physically and nature had you made with a bit of counterweight anyway, so you weren't pulled down by his. Together you managed to get him on the rug, his agitated breathing was the only sign of pain you could read off of him, and you wasted no time to pull on it. It wasn't as easy as you had wished it to be, with all the rubble specking the way out. Tomorrow you'd definitely have sore muscles but that was a ridiculous price you were willing to pay to get both of you out of all of this. Alive.  
The stairs were the short way but no option, so you played it safe and dragged him down the long wheelchair ramp at the outside. As soon as you reached the back of the trailer and hold out your hand another time, Bane's already held on to it. Either way he had realised how close the cops were now or... _no, don't you think like that, Y/N_! You scolded yourself while you helped the man who was easily a head taller than you and built like a brick wall into the vehicle. With a few quick movements you fastened the top cover to hide Bane from eventual encounters with the officials and other folk, and hopped onto your bike. A good and precise kick to the starter and you fled the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the second chapter! I hope it’s not too boring? I really know how to drag things on, don’t I? Hahaha!


	3. Slipping Away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your motorcycle are trying your best to outrun death. Is your metal horse fast enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You and your motorcycle are trying your best to outrun death. Is your metal horse fast enough?
> 
> Warnings: Some swearing, mention of antisemitism (no slurs but it’s implied)

The motor of your vehicle vibrated between your thighs. Every time you edged it on to go faster, you felt the roar, but you couldn't hear it. Your head was elsewhere. Your thoughts were racing faster than your bike and your senses focused on everything that was happening outside the bubble, including you, the bike, the trailer and its content: Bane.  
Eyes scanning every oncoming car or pedestrian suspiciously. Ears reaching out for the sound of the sirens of police cars. Once or twice they had been close, and you made sure to decrease your speed to the permitted level. Idiotic though. The streets were almost empty after all, so only the mere sight of you (and the trailer) was high peak suspicious. But the police didn't seem to care. Bigger problems were afoot and you were just a very small drop in the ocean of diarrhea, that was going down in this city. And to be honest, you weren't sure what you would have done. Sell Bane out from the get-go? A “I was just gonna bring him over to you guys!” or a “What? How did this man, I've never seen in my life, get there?” Which was such a bad lie, you'd deserve to get arrested just for telling it. Or would you try to outrace them? (Which wasn't the greatest idea with an injured person in your trailer and the faster you'd go, the wobblier the trailer and the harder the steering would get.) Or, or, or? You weren't sure and you didn't want to think about it. You were just hoping for the best – not encountering the officials at all.  
The kind of information, your eyes were not passing on to your brain, was the bumpy road ahead. Only when you felt the metal rattling differently than usual, your attention was drawn to the pavement (or rather the lack of it in forms of cracks and holes).

The old, partially rundown buildings, cheap shops and bad infrastructure and streets made it painfully obvious, you had entered the poor part of Gotham. The city officials had decided on neglecting these parts decades ago, just putting money in what was a necessary fix, and nothing about that had changed since. Maybe celebrating the occasional opening of a new mall, seemingly a try to help improving people's lives around here by creating jobs and opportunities. But these people had learned from other former poor districts of the city. Districts they maybe had lived in and be a part of years ago, until increasing living costs had forced them to move farther and farther away from the centre and make place for wealthier inhabitants, while they still had to drive to their old neighbourhoods every morning to serve these people and work shitty low-pay jobs at companies belonging to the richest of the rich of Gotham.  
So the occasional new mall, either accidentally burned down most of time, or turned into an indoor ghost town. And people in this part of the city had learned to rather stick their eyes to the ground, as to not stumble one more time on their already stone-riddled path through life. Lifting and broadening your gaze, meant to eventually trip and fall. And there always was a way to fall deeper than from where you had started and a place worse to end up at.

Your ears shifted back from the sirens in the distance, as you heard muffled moans from behind. “I'm so, so sorry!”, your own voice felt distant yet sounded close as it ricochet in the inside of your helmet, that you somehow had managed to put on (even as scatterbrained as you were. Hey! Safety first, right?), as you had fled the scene.  
You knew this was the fastest and most inconspicuous way to get to your destination. But the state these streets were in, made you hesitant to go any further, anxious it would only worsen the dire condition of your back seat passenger. Whoever he was, this was a very miserable way to die, and you wished it on no one. It was almost impossible to keep your mind from spinning around all the possibilities, all the outcomes this could have but first and foremost fear crept up your spine with every passing second. The fear he wouldn't make it. And driving towards the sun setting for the night, made the fickle nature of Bane's life hanging from a very thin thread painfully visible to you.

Your heart gave a leap out of relief, as you took your eyes off of the blinding red giant and they recognised your destination. Finally you stopped the motorcycle in front of a building most familiar to you. The project you lived in. The number of floors, and the number of apartments each of them contained, made it difficult to know each and every of this building's inhabitants. Different ways of living and working, made it nearly impossible to come across all their faces. One face you were able to describe as clear as day, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night, was Izzy's. Ishmael, or Izzy, as you liked to call him, was your oldest friend. Both from poor and broken families (though in different ways), both ending up at the same orphanage at a young age. It wasn't just because you both had been the new kids at the place, that you two had bonded so quickly, but you had never liked bullies, and Izzy had been a very easy target to pick on. At least once a week, you had ended up with dark bruises, a bloody nose or a cut on your lip, or you found yourself in detention or grounded. You didn't care because you were sure, the slurs thrown at him hurt a lot more than that.

Your gloved hands almost threw the helmet from you, as well as the damn things covering them, when your nervously clumsy hands failed to unbind the rope from the hooks to take off the cover of your trailer. A pair of tired eyes set in a pale face greeted you and you instantly felt your stomach drop.  
The trick with the carpet wouldn't work with this gritty pavement, so ya good old muscles had to wake up for this part of the journey. As you helped the injured man, who was easy and at least a head taller than you, out of the trailer, he put some of his weight on you but you could feel he was hesitant about letting you carry too much. Sure, he was a big guy and as you walked towards the entrance of the building, cloaked in secrecy by the growing darkness of the night and the empty streets (and the fact that neighbours simply didn’t give a shit about what others were doing), a slight burning sensation set itself to start in your legs and arms already, but you were stronger than most people (especially men) thought. “I can take it,” you told Bane with a slight but encouraging huff, shuffling closer to him, positioning more of his arm over your shoulders. Just in the last few moments you had observed with growing concern, that carrying most his own weight, had drained a lot of his remaining energy very fast.

Hesitating one more moment, the tall man tried a pretty gentle approach to literally dropping more weight on your shoulders. Surprised by the fact you did not collapse under him, he was even more surprised as you headed for the elevator in a very steady pace.

You didn't know how you did it. To carry most of that pile of meat that was a (barely alive) man to Izzy's door. It felt like taking you hours, just as the time span between the ringing sound of the doorbell and seeing your friends face seemed to go on an eternity. Time really was relative, man.  
A smiling face greeted you and dropped instantly as it recognised the face next to you. Somehow you had seen this reaction coming and had put your combat boot clothed foot into the door. “Please Izzy, I need your help!”, you begged him. You knew he didn't mean to react like that. He had his reasons. “Are you insane? Bringing this man to my friggin' door, Y/N?”, even in situations like these, he couldn't bring himself to swear properly. “The whole city is looking for him! He's a darn terrorist!”, Izzy whisper-shouted which was almost comically, if this all hadn't been greatly tinted with seriousness and urgency. “Then I guess your Hippocratic oath means shit. More like hypocritical if you ask me, dude!”, you hissed back.  
For a brief second your soft boy Ishmael's lips twitched to form an amused smile, but before he could compliment you on that comeback, you felt Bane's hands grabbing onto you, as his legs gave up under him and he started slipping out of your grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that took me a long time. lol I’m dragging the story on like the chewiest chewing gum, hahaha! Again: English is not my first language, so there might be mistakes in grammar/spelling/tenses etc. (Also that summary sounds pretty dramatic and funny at the same time, lol)

**Author's Note:**

> So that’s it for now! I’ve got some ideas for one or two more chapters, if anyone is interested. <3


End file.
